


A Metamorphosis

by sithcommando236



Series: The Spider and Her Butterfly [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: But fails miserably, Evil plots, F/F, Junkrat tries to be Hunkrat, More dealing with mental anguish, Rating and Tags will get updated with each new chapter, Romance, Welcome to Season 2, Widowtracer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:31:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithcommando236/pseuds/sithcommando236
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lena and Amelie have safely made it to Overwatch's Hollywood base.  Now, Amelie must deal with the implications of her choices and understand both herself and her relationship with Lena.  How do they move forward, and what will they do about Talon?<br/>Meanwhile, Talon enacts heinous plots with the intent of furthering their dastardly goals, and Reaper gets closer to the revenge he's craved for all too long.</p><p>Basically, Widowtracer and cool missions & stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dark Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> *sing-song voice*: I'm baaa-aaack! Welcome to what I'm calling "Season 2" of my Widowtracer fanfic. I hope you guys enjoy what I have in store, and I look forward to what you all think of it. As always, comments and kudos are appreciated :D

_Talon Headquarters, Russian Island_

 

Russia; site of the emerging Second Omnic Crisis.  Every day, Russian soldiers sacrificed their lives fighting against rebelling Omnic forces all over the country.  The mainland had already been ravaged by the original Crisis, and it had only gotten worse as the fighting grew more intense with each passing day. 

It was that violence that had provided Talon with the perfect opportunity to further their goals.  With the Russian government’s military and intelligence networks distracted by their war and desperate for the funds necessary to continue fighting, Talon had been able to use one of its shell companies to purchase a large, rocky, and desolate island off of the country’s northern coast.

Posing as an oil-drilling company, Talon had built upon the black, snow-covered rocks of the island a large compound that would serve as its main base of operations.  New recruits to Talon were brought here for training; to a harsh place in which they were to be taught by an even harsher organization.

Talon housed many of its land, air, and aquatic transports here, as well as a large stockpile of weaponry and tools to be used by agents and troops that were sent on various missions.

It was here that all of Talon’s directives originated.  Top lieutenants would report to the base in order to inform the board of Talon leaders of how far along important operations were and how close each op was to reaching its goals, and where they would receive new orders on what organization to infiltrate, who to have assassinated, which experiments to conduct. 

Typically, Talon’s board of six leaders tried to spend as much time away from Talon’s main base as necessary and remain in their respective zones of influence.  They had to keep up their fronts as wealthy, powerful, and important people in each of the world’s six major continental zones.  And when they did have to travel to the main base, they tended to try and avoid being there at the same time, lest some nosy intelligence organization realize that the same six individuals would all randomly drop off the grid at the same time in more instances than could be coincidence and grow suspicious of their activities.

Today however, was one of the rare instances when necessity had forced them all to travel to and meet at the main base in order to discuss major developments that could hinder Talon operations around the globe. Particularly, the seeming reemergence of Overwatch agents that had managed to thwart several of Talon’s operations already.

They were also there to discuss agent Widowmaker.

 

The experimental Talon assassin drone designated TA-02 had been ordered to retrieve and, if deemed necessary, eliminate Talon’s best assassin, agent Widowmaker.  It, along with a team of covert Talon agents had been sent to Hollywood in an attempt to capture the woman due to the fact that readings from the small neurochip installed in her brain had indicated that it was experiencing some kind of unexpected malfunction.  They were to grab her and bring her back to Talon headquarters, where she would have undergone reconditioning and had a new chip installed, thus rendering her under Talon’s complete and utter control.

The mission had been complicated due to Widowmaker’s apparent romantic involvement with the Overwatch agent, Tracer.  The team of Talon agents had changed plans and tried to grab both women but, having sensed a trap, Widowmaker and Tracer had led the team on a chase through a wooded hiking park that had ended disastrously for the Talon force; all agents had ended up dead and the women escaped.

Only the assassin drone had been left and, having hit a dead end in tracking down its targets, it had dealt with the fallen agents’ bodies and erased all evidence of Talon’s involvement, then taken the small troop transport the team had used back to the main HQ in order to file a full report to the board of leaders.       

Now, the drone methodically guided the shielded and camouflaged transport into the airspace over the base’s main staging arena.  After submitting the correct clearance codes, the Talon transport made a slow descent to the staging ground already crowded with both land and sky Talon troop transports, as well as various groups of Talon grunts wearing heavily-insulated clothing undergoing exercise routines such as jogging around the staging area’s perimeter and prepping to deploy on various missions.

TA-02 guided the transport to an empty spot in between two other similar transports, then powered down the vehicle.  It stepped out into the frigid Russian air, its sensors reading a temperature of well below freezing.  Harsh conditions for an unforgiving group of people, indeed. 

If the drone were an organic, it would probably have feared for its life, for a failure of this magnitude in Talon would surely be met with a subsequent execution.  But, because TA-02 was one of Talon’s experimental assassin drones, whose code was based on data taken from Widowmaker’s most spectacular and skillful kills, its punishment would be to receive upgrades and become an even deadlier version of itself.

The drone stalked across the grounds, giving no acknowledgment to the grunts who stopped whatever it was they were doing and tried – but failed – to avoid staring at the seven-and-a-half-foot tall, gunmetal gray-colored assassin.  Its photoreceptors glowed in a threatening red x-shape embedded in a thin and elongated skull-like visage, inspiring fear in the younger and less-experienced Talon recruits. 

Once it had reached the entrance to the base’s wing that contained the leaders’ meeting chamber, the drone extended a metal, five-fingered hand and inserted the connector hidden in the clawed tip of its index finger into a receptor in the door.  After a second-long exchange between the two machines, the door gave an affirmative beep and opened, allowing the drone entrance.

Its armored metal feet gave muted clangs as it methodically made its way through corridors and rooms to the antechamber that led into the leaders’ meeting chamber.

Already waiting there was a figure cloaked in black; someone who had recently allied himself with the terrorist organization in order to further his own goals of revenge against the organization the he believed had betrayed him.

 

Reaper had been waiting outside of the ornately-carved double doors for what felt like hours.  He understood that the leaders of Talon would not simply halt their meeting in order to brief their newest ally on a potential lead on a member of the original Overwatch team, but that didn’t stop him from growing steadily more and more frustrated as he examined the same carving for the fiftieth time.

The doors were covered in carved images of giant birds of prey swooping down upon various civilizations that spanned the entire existence of humankind.  The birds were depicted using their talons to tear apart civilizations that had been deemed as impure and unworthy, unable to bring humanity into an age of perfection.

That, of course, was Talon’s goal; use terror to fuel unrest across the world in an attempt to get countries to rip themselves apart by application of healthy doses of rebellion and insurrection, coupled with an Omnic War.  In the end, Talon would reign supreme as the puppeteer of all major world powers, thus bringing humanity into its vision of a perfect civilization.

If you asked Reaper, Talon was just a group of mindless grunts following the directions of a few sick, power-hungry individuals obsessed with an ages-old organization that really had no place in the modern world.  However, Talon was Reaper’s best chance at tracking down and killing all of the members of Overwatch – of finally destroying the last remains of the organization that had caused him to become the monster that he was today.  And so he remained Talon’s reluctant ally.

The monotony of his wait was broken by the muted clanging of metal feet bringing a giant of a mech to a halt next to Reaper.  He glanced at it without actually moving his head, then decided to ignore it.  It didn’t acknowledge him, nor he it.

Somewhat annoyed, he thought to himself, _If that pile of scrap gets addressed first, I swear I will kill everyone on this island._

That thought, along with the fact that the doors had begun to swing open, served to slightly brighten Reaper’s sour mood.

Both he and the drone stepped forward into the high-ceilinged room, and the doors swung closed behind them. 

He took note of his surroundings: The room was designed to make the leaders appear as if they were a panel of judges, sitting in a raised semicircle of conjoined, black desks with white granite tops, on a platform at the back of the room, looking down upon the spot where those they addressed would stand; where Reaper and the drone now stood.  The walls, floor, and ceiling were a uniform black, serving as something for the white-topped desks to stand as a sharp contrast against. 

One of the walls was covered in a large bank of monitors.  They could be used as a large screen to depict the visage of lieutenants und underlings not important enough to warrant meeting the leaders in their lair, as well as to show the feeds from the various security cameras located in and around the base.  Currently however, the monitors showed a large, slowly rotating depiction of Talon’s insignia set to a blood-red background.  It was the same insignia that took up the center of the front of the leader’s conjoined desks: it was a metallic-gray “T” designed to look like the hooked talons of the birds of prey depicted on the carved doors.

Again, Reaper was struck by just how delusional these six people must have been in order to fully commit their lives to their ridiculous cause.

He waited in silence as the leaders looked both him and the drone next to him over, apparently waiting for something. 

Reaper inhaled a quick breath with the intent of asking what the newest lead on former Overwatch agents was, but just then the drone gave a whir and cut him off.  He scowled behind his mask and started to calculate whether or not his shotgun rounds would reach the leaders if he started a Death Blossom from where he stood.  The drone started speaking in its deep, modulated, and monotone voice, “As you all know, the mission to capture agent Widowmaker in order to both recondition her and repair her neural implant failed.”

Behind his mask, Reaper’s eyes widened.  His mind was filled with questions such as, _Amélie defied Talon?_ and then, _Her neurochip malfunctioned?_

The Englishman responsible for Talon operations all over Europe, Leonine Abrams, leaned forward on his elbows and steepled his fingers.  He was tall, wiry man.  Approximately in his late fifties, the bright-eyed blond had served as an ambassador to the UN for over ten years and had made many political allies in that time.  His personality alone was enough to win over the hearts of many important men and, even more so, women, which had opened up many doors to him in the sociopolitical world.  The man also somewhat uncomfortably reminded Reaper of another popular blond man he had known years ago.

The man opened his mouth to reveal pearly white teeth and said in a moderately deep and somewhat aristocratic voice, “Continue.”

The drone complied, explaining in full detail everything that had transpired from first contact with “the target” to the failure of the mission and the clean-up. 

The entire time, Reaper paid rapt attention as the drone continued to drone on – _haha_ – and finished with its arrival at the base.  The implications of what he was hearing excited Reaper; he had grown to greatly dislike the woman that Talon had brainwashed Amélie into, and her betrayal provided him a rare treat: Whether or not she had betrayed Talon just in order to be with her new lover, or she had truly decided that Overwatch was a better home for her, she could be added to his list of people to execute.  She would be another body to add to the pile – her death would further sate Reaper’s need for vengeance and retribution.

Then another thought occurred to him, and anger roiled in his gut and spilled forward as he angrily rasped out, “Why wasn’t I involved in this?  I’m familiar with both of these women; I could’ve easily subdued and brought them in!”

Seiko Ishikawa, the Talon leader in charge of operations in Asia, scoffed and leaned forward to address Reaper. 

He inwardly sighed; she was a severe woman known for her strict personality and made up for what she lacked in height with her prowess in the political field.  Drawing her ire was sure to leave Reaper with a headache.

The short Japanese woman said in a harsh voice, “You know as well as each of us that you would never have gone after the agents with the intention of capturing them in order to deliver them to us.  As soon as they were in your general vicinity, you would have destroyed everyone and everything between you and them just to kill them and further sate your lust for vengeance.”

 _Yep, there it is_ ; the headache had started, blossoming in the front of his skull like a small pebble had become lodged in his head.  But this headache wasn’t just because of how annoyed Reaper was, but also because he knew she was right.  Going on a bloody rampage that would have left probably more than a couple of civilians dead as well as both a high-value Talon agent and a famous agent of Overwatch would be bad publicity; publicity that could bring Talon closer to the spotlight that it had made oh-so-sure to stay well away from. 

But how could he not get upset that they hadn’t given him a chance to off not just one but _two_ people associated with Overwatch?  He might have actually felt something akin to happiness as he stood over the broken and bloody corpses of Amélie and Lena.

Then Abrams leaned forward again and added to what Ishikawa had said, “Our goals may _temporarily_ align,” the emphasis on the word ‘ _temporarily_ ’ was not lost on Reaper, “but that does not mean that you are suddenly privy to all of Talon’s operations – even those of which that involve associates of,” his face twisted into a visage of utter disgust and his voice dripped with it when he finished with, “ _Overwatch_.”

As if all of the leaders were jumping onto the ‘Let’s Piss Off Reaper Train,’ Henry Jackson, the leader who was in charge of North American operations and currently a United States senator, added in a condescending tone, “Plus, your recent failures such as the botched mission to retrieve Doomfist’s gauntlet and your failure to use that experimental spike to hack into Overwatch’s own _mainframe_ to find out where all of your old pals are hanging out have caused some of us to lose faith in your capabilities.”

Reaper actually turned to look at Jackson, making a silent promise to kill the fool as soon as Talon was no longer a necessary ally for him.  He did his best to convey that message through the black eyes slits in his skull mask.

He felt a small level of satisfaction at seeing the man try and fail to suppress a gulp.  However, Jackson then continued in what sounded like an even stronger voice, “As you know, Talon’s goal – the same goal that it’s had for millennia – is to cause chaos in an imperfect world in order to bring on change, to bring Talon into power and steer mankind into an age of perfection and prosperity! 

“But,” he continued in a softer voice, “none of that can happen if our plans fail.  And we’re not willing to allow one man’s thirst for revenge to topple everything we’ve strived so hard to build up.”

Reaper’s headache felt like someone was gently trying to crack his skull in half with a hammer and chisel.   The ridiculous load of _mierda_ that these idiots were sprouting only served to make him imagine the beauty of how easy it would be for him to whip out his ever-present shotguns and kill everything in the room with a well-timed Death Blossom.  He would just have to make sure to take out the drone next to him first, but once it was down, dispatching the rest of the room’s occupants would be easy.

He could see it now: the drone collapsed in a pile of sparking wires and smoking metal remains; ornate doors and wall of monitors utterly destroyed; the bloody corpses of the Talon leaders bent at awkward angles over their ruined desks and chairs; the Talon insignia shattered into unrecognizable pieces.  Not only was it a beautiful sight, but also in an ironic twist, Reaper would have finished what Overwatch and not even Blackwatch had been able to accomplish, all on his own.  The thought made him smile a sadistic smile behind the mask.

He was broken out of his fantasy by the voice of Ishikawa who said, “However, we do have a way for you to redeem yourself.  To prove that this alliance is not a wasted effort. In fact, it was why we summoned you here in the first place.”

Pushing his fantasy aside, Reaper crossed his arms and sarcastically rasped out, “Oh really?  This should be good.”

 

It was.   


	2. A Measure of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues directly from where The Spider and Her Butterfly ended. 
> 
> Lena and Amelie get acquainted with the lovable Junkers and Lena tries to convince Winston that Amelie can be trusted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, first and foremost I want to say that I'm sorry for not updating in so long; I just had some really bad writer's block and was stressing about the inevitable beginning of another year of college. But I promise that I'm back and raring to go, now. I'm hoping to update at least every two weeks, if not even more frequently. Again, sorry for being away for so long.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and as always, comments, criticisms, and kudos are greatly appreciated. Enjoy! :D

_Underground Overwatch Base, Outside of Hollywood_

 

Lena still couldn’t believe what she was seeing.  McCree just stood there with an idiotic smile on his face, clearly enjoying the dumfounded look on both her and Amélie’s faces. 

The two Junkers – _What had the news_ _called them?_ It took her a moment to remember the ridiculous codenames that the criminals used; _Ah, right!_ – Junkrat and Roadhog, stood in the same spots they had stopped at upon noticing that McCree had returned to the base with two new arrivals.

Junkrat looked to McCree, who stood about midway between the two Australians and the two women, and asked, “So, these are the two ‘ _important personnel_ ’ you had to rescue from them Talon guys, eh?”  He raised two fingers on his good hand in air-quotes when he said ‘important personnel.’

McCree nodded as he replied in a cheerful tone, “That’s right, partner!”  He pointed at Lena with the hand of his mechanical arm, “Lena here is one of Overwatch’s best damn agents, if I do say so myself.”  His smile grew smug as he continued with, “Well, not as good as me, but what can ya do, eh?” he finished with a satisfied shrug.

Lena just rolled her eyes and blew a tuft of her hair that had fallen in front of one of her eyes.  Then she went back to wondering just why the hell two criminals were in an Overwatch base.

McCree pointed at Amélie and started to say, “And this is…”  he glanced back both women, and upon seeing their obviously still-skeptical faces (more so Lena than Amélie, who just looked mildly amused), he coughed, then said, “But before we get to introducin’ everyone to everyone, I think it’d be best if you explained how two world-class criminals came to become Overwatch’s newest recruits – just so we’re all on the same page.”

Upon hearing McCree use the term ‘world-class criminals’ to describe him and Roadhog, Junkrat drew himself up to his full 6’5” height in pride and happily replied, “Sure!”  He made his way closer to the women, his peg-leg making a dull _thunk_ -ing sound with each impact on the ground, then began his explanation, “First off, just so you know, my name is Jamison Fawkes the Third, and this here is my _illustrious_ bodyguard and business partner, Mako Rutledge; he likes to be called Roadhog, though.”

He pointed at Roadhog, who gave both women another wave with one of his massive hands.  Lena gave a small wave back with a slightly-forced smile; Amélie simply raised a perfect eyebrow and gave a slight incline of her head as acknowledgement.

Junkrat continued, “And you can call me Junkrat.  Us two good-looking blokes hail from the great big shit-hole that is the Australian Outback.  I was born to a family of ten; two parents and three sisters and four brothers.”  He leaned forward and cupped a hand to the left side of his mouth as – in his attempt at a conspiratorial tone – he said, “ _I’m_ the best-looking, if you couldn’t already tell.” He winked.  He really winked.

Not understanding what most of this information had to do with how he and his large friend had come to join Overwatch, as well as beginning to feel very uncomfortable under Junkrat’s wandering gaze, Lena glanced at Amélie – who just gave her trademark eyebrow-raise again – then looked back to Junkrat and said a confused, “Er…okay…?”

He flashed what he thought was his most attractive smile at the women (it was very toothy and more than a little creepy) then continued, “Any who, here’s some more important info about me: I like explosives, money, stickin’ it to the Man, making my own barbeque, and long moonlit walks on the beach.  I don’t like-”

Realizing what Junkrat was doing, McCree raised a halting hand and cut him off with, “ _Ooookay_ , partner.  I said to explain why you two are workin’ for Overwatch; not give ‘em your online datin’ profile.”

Everyone looked over in surprise (except for Junkrat, who just resolutely glared at the wall behind the ladies’ heads) as Roadhog alternated between doubling over and throwing his head back as he emitted what at first sounded like loud, rapid, hacking coughs.  It took Lena a moment to realize that the giant was _laughing_.  It was a sound that would probably haunt her dreams for weeks to come.

One of Junkrat’s eyes twitched as he slowly turned to look at McCree, “ _Fine_.”  He turned back to the women and said, “So Roadie and I have nicked pretty much anything and everything you can think of, all across the world.”  He seemed to look off into the distance and take on a fond tone as he recounted, “From ice cream to crown jewels; from gold ingots to candy from babies. 

“But,” he shifted tone yet again; this time to that of a con trying to convince the cops that he had truly reformed, “being the good-hearted heroes that we are; standing up for the little guy, Roadie and I realized that we needed to find a better way to be role-models for those like us; to prove that all those little Junkrats and Roadhogs have got a future in this cruel, cruel world.”

A deep, rumbling voice said, “We were on the run from the police and figured Overwatch would take us in.”

Junkrat glared back at his bodyguard and grumbled out, “Fine, ruin a perfectly good story, mate.”  Apparently no one was on his side today.  He looked back to the two women and finally spoke in what seemed to be his truthful voice, “We were on the run, then we heard from one of our more…” he took a moment to find the right word, “… _illicit_ contacts that Overwatch was up and running again illegally, and _I_ had the bright idea to join, since technically we’re criminals and so are you guys, so I figured you could use a couple blokes with me and Roadie’s particular _skillsets_.  And now here we are, providing backup and muscle for Mr. Cowboy over there.”  He finished with a jab of his thumb towards McCree.

As he turned and ambled back to his friend, Lena took a second to process all of this information.  _Well, if he says that they’re working for Overwatch now, and McCree seems to trust them well enough…_   They might have been a little rough around the edges – okay, _very_ rough around the edges – but hey, if they were willing to support Overwatch’s cause, then they were A-Okay in Lena’s book.

Plus, who was she to judge; she was in the midst of helping to bring Amélie – _the_ Widowmaker – into Overwatch with open arms.  Albeit under different circumstances, Amélie’s history was just as bad – if not worse – than that of the Junkers.  The fact that the Australian duo had been allowed to join gave her hope; hope that Winston would be more receptive to the idea of Amélie’s joining than she had initially thought. 

With that thought in her mind, she flashed a beaming smile at both Junkrat and Roadhog as she said, “Well then, I’m glad to have you both aboard, gents.  The name’s Lena Oxton; call-sign Tracer.  You can call me Lena though, and I look forward to working with you two!”

She turned to look at Amélie and nodded, prompting the woman to step forward and say, “My name is Amélie.  I’m…” she trailed off, an unsure look flitting across her face.  She couldn’t – _didn’t want to_ – introduce herself as Widowmaker, world-class terrorist sniper, very recently having become ex-Talon.  She was still discovering who she was, who she wanted to be.  So she said something that went along with that idea of ‘ _new_ ;’ she said, “I’m a new recruit, as well.  _Bonjour_.”  It may have been a short and simple answer, but for her it contained more hope than she had had in a long time.  She flashed the Australians her own quick, small smile.

Junkrat flashed her his _extremely_ toothy grin, then said, “Nice, mate.  Welcome to the club; I hope we all get to _know_ each other real well, real soon.”  There was that wink again.  _Yuck_.

Lena figured that now was a good time to contact Winston and explain the situation to him.  _And get away from Junkreep_.  “Hey, McCree, I think we should probably call up the big guy and let him know what’s goin’ on, yeah?”

He nodded, “Yeah, time to figure out what we’re gonna do about…well…y’know.”  He said the last part with a nod in Amélie’s direction.

With one last glance at the Junkers, McCree said, “Boys, as always: don’t blow anything up – that means you, J-Rat.”

Then McCree led Lena and Amélie into one of the side corridors as Junkrat whined in the background, “It was _one time_ , mate…”

 

* * *

 

 

Both women followed closely behind the cowboy; the only sounds being the rattling of McCree’s spurs on his cowboy boots and his voice as he pointed out and explained the purpose of each room they passed on the way to the comms room.  There was a small exercise room, a room filled with computer banks and several large monitors, a small room filled with actual books, a small infirmary, and the armory.  The communications room itself was located past the last door at the end of the hallway.

As they neared their destination, McCree finished his tour with, “…and the other hallway that leads off from the common room has all of the agents’ quarters…” he glanced at Amélie, “…as well as the prisoner holding room.”

His glance at Amélie as he said ‘ _prisoner holding room_ ’ was not lost on Lena.  She thought to herself, _Right, I’m gonna have to convince Winston that Amélie’s trustworthy._ If she could convince Winston – who was essentially Overwatch’s involuntary leader – then surely McCree would follow suit.  Also, convincing her fellow Overwatch agents to give Amélie a chance would not only help heal the damaged woman, but also help her along her path to redemption in the eyes of her former friends.  Lena needed to accomplish this personal mission; there was no room for failure when it came to her love. 

‘ _My love’._  She had surprised herself with how easily that word came to her in reference to Amélie.  She smiled to herself.  _I like the way that sounds._  

Walking next to her, Amélie noticed her warm expression.  The cold fingers of her hand drifted towards the warmth of Lena’s, their fingers quickly entwining.  They shared a loving look and a gentle squeeze of their interlocked hands.

They let go of each other as McCree led them inside the communications room.  He walked up to one of the several terminals spread around the moderately-sized space; each terminal was hooked up to a high-quality monitor, camera, and sound system so that it would be as if the people on both ends of the call were in the same room together.

McCree scratched his beard as he closed an eye and looked up at the ceiling, saying in a faux-forgetful voice, “Now gimme just a sec; what was that darned frequency again?”

Lena rolled her eyes and whined, “ _Jesse…_ ”  That got a small chuckle from Amélie next to her.

He gave a laugh, then acquiesced with, “Fine, fine.  But really, gimme a sec.”  He tapped a few of the keys on the holographic interface, setting up the link and initiating the call to Watchpoint: Gibraltar.  They only had to wait for maybe ten seconds before the monitor in front of them flashed the message ‘ _CONNECTION ESTABLISHED_ …... _ESTABLISHING VIDEO-UPLINK_ ’.

Then the screen shifted to show the dark-furred visage of Overwatch’s one and only gorilla scientist, Winston.  The moment that he could see the video feed from the Hollywood base’s end of the connection was apparent, because his gaze swiftly shifted between the three of them; his eyes noticeably widening upon sighting Amélie.

 _Oh, this is gonna be_ fun _to explain, isn’t it?_ Lena sarcastically thought to herself.  She already knew that the big guy would come to see things her way at the end of this conversation, but convincing him was going to be difficult.  Before she even had a chance to open her mouth to talk, Winston quickly and tersely said, “Agent McCree, would you be so kind as to take our ‘ _guest_ ’ outside the room and give Agent Tracer and I a moment to discuss some urgent matters?”

For his part, McCree didn’t seem at all perturbed by Winston’s hostile tone.  He nodded and said, “Sure thing, partner.”  He gently but firmly placed one of his hands on Amélie’s back and led her out of the room.  Amélie turned her head to give Lena a worried, uncertain look as she was led out.  

Lena flashed her lover her most reassuring smile, then mouthed the words ‘ _Trust me_ ’.  The last Lena saw of her spider was as her long ponytail trailed after her into the hallway, followed closely by McCree.  When she heard the door click shut, she finally turned to once again face the monitor.  It was just her and Winston now.

She watched as he took a deep breath; her friend exhaled some of his visible tension along with the breath, taking a moment to compose his thoughts.  He carefully adjusted the pair of glasses precariously seated upon his squat nose, then looked at Lena and said in a tired voice, “I want you to know that first and foremost, I’m glad that you’re safe.  I was deeply worried about you.” 

Lena nodded and said sincerely, “I’m sorry I scared ya, big guy.  Thanks for sending Jesse to pick us up; the situation was gettin’ awful hairy before he showed up.”

He gave a small laugh as he said, “I’m just glad he made it there in time.”  They shared a moment of comfortable silence. 

Winston was the one to break it; his tone serious, “Now Lena, can you _please_ explain to me why you were with _Widowmaker_ of all people?  And why she hasn’t killed everyone in the base?  And why you two were running from Talon, _together_?”

 _Here we go_ , she thought.  She needed to phrase her explanation in a way that cast the least amount of doubt on Amélie’s motives.  She took a moment to compose her thoughts, then began.

“So, remember that night I called you and told you I was with a friend, helping them with an emergency?”

“Yes…” he answered, eyes slowly narrowing.

“Well, ya see, I was kinda sorta with Widowmaker that night.  She, uh… _contacted_ me, said she needed help.”  She gestured absent-mindedly with her hands as she smoothly continued on from that small-not-so-small lie, “You know my history with Amélie, so of course I was intrigued, yeah?  I figured I could handle her well enough if things went south, so I went and met up with her.”

Winston sighed and said in a chastising tone, “Which I _hope_ you know was extremely reckless and dangerous, Lena.”

“Yes, luv, I know.  Jeez, you sound just like Morrison.”  He rolled his eyes and she laughed; back before Jack Morrison had been killed, before the fall of Overwatch, the younger agents had affectionately called him the Team Dad due to his overprotective nature and other dad-like behaviors when it came to the younger members of Overwatch.  _And then there was the golfing_.  Lena had to suppress a shudder.

“Getting back on topic,” Winston said, “what happened when you met up with her?”

“Well, she was acting really weird – nothing like the ice-cold, ‘one shot, one kill’ Widowmaker you and I were familiar with.  She was nervous, unsure of herself.  She started asking me about her personal history from before she was abducted; said she saw stuff in her mind that she didn’t understand.”

Lena was pleased when Winston chimed in with a quiet, “She was remembering…”

“Exactly, luv!  So I told her everything about her from before Talon; her history with Overwatch, Gérard, her marriage, her abduction – everything!  And then she had a total breakdown and I was there to help her pick up the pieces.  Hell, Winston, she bloody broke free of whatever them Talon bastards did to her!”

Winston let out a long sigh then said, “Even if she were recovering who she used to be, how do we know that this isn’t some elaborate Talon plot to get her close to us in order to eliminate a thorn in their side?  Just like with Gérard?”

This was where Lena’s argument became rickety; she just hoped her friend saw her logic, “If that was their plan, then why would they risk losing their best assassin just to _maybe_ take out a few Overwatch agents, huh?  The way I see it, they would never risk their best assassin getting captured or killed for so little reward.”

Winston was nodding as she spoke, which encouraged Lena to go in for the kill.

“And on top of all that, why would Talon let her remember everything before?  We _knew_ Amélie; she was the brightest ray of sunshine back in the ol’ days and wouldn’t hurt a fly, so she would never willingly hurt any of us if she remembered what we were to her, and that Talon had stolen all of that from her.  She needs our _help_ , Winston.” 

She silently added, _And I need her._

The ape opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, the sound of someone who was clearly torn on what decision to make and stuck between a rock and a hard place emanating from his throat.  After a few silent moments, he finally said, “I want to trust that Amélie really is coming back to us – I really, truly do, Lena.”

She already knew what was coming, so she supplied the necessary conjunction, “But…”

“But if there’s even the smallest chance that she could turn hostile and hurt any one of us, then I don’t think we can just give her free reign.  At the same time, we don’t have the resources for keeping a prisoner at that base, and somehow I don’t think that the prisoner holding room will cut it if she decides she wants out.”  He really was torn.  “I don’t know what to do, Lena.”

Then a third voice cut in, saying, “Then maybe a third opinion will help the situation.”  Angela’s beautiful face popped into the frame as she leaned over Winston’s shoulder to get a better look at the monitor.  Her blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail, a group of loose strands framing one side of her face.  She wore a lab coat over a yellow turtleneck.  Angela smiled as she waved and said, “Why hello Lena, how are you, dear?”

She smiled and waved back, “Heya Ange.  We’re dealin’ with a bit of a spider problem, right now.  I’m tryin’ ta convince good ol’ Gorilla Grodd here that Amélie is breaking free from what Talon did to her and that she’s comin’ back to us.”

Lena saw Angela’s bright smile disappear, her expression darkening at the mention of the Frenchwoman; the doctor blamed herself for what had happened to both Amélie and Gérard.  She believed that if she had gone more in-depth with her psychological evaluation of Amélie before allowing her to go home, she could have found that something was indeed wrong with her, which would have prevented Gérard’s murder and maybe even have saved Amélie from whatever reconditioning Talon had subjected her to.

However, the prospect of the Frenchwoman’s return to who she once was gave Angela a hope that she didn’t quite want to embrace, not quite yet.  She said, “How about you explain the situation to me, so that I can help us come to a decision.”

And so Lena did; she explained everything to Angela just as she had explained it to Winston, all the while hoping that Angela would see things her way and have an answer to the dilemma on how much freedom and trust Amélie should have.

After Lena finished her recounting of events, Angela looked upwards in thought, tapping a delicate finger on her chin.  After a few moments, she snapped her fingers and brightly smiled as she said, “I think I have a solution!”

Winston looked at her and said, “Oh?”

Lena beamed at her friend and asked, “Whatchya got for us, doc?”

 

Once Angela had explained her idea to Winston and Lena, they had both agreed that it was the best and easiest solution for Amélie’s unique situation.  Lena was extremely happy with the outcome of their discussion.  _Things are really lookin’ up_ , she happily thought to herself.

Winston said, “All right.  Lena, please call McCree and Amélie back in here so that we can explain our decision to them.”

“And let’s make sure that Ms. Lacroix is willing to go along with it,” Angela added.

“Right,” Lena agreed.  She was sure that the ever-logical Amélie would agree to go along with what they had decided upon.  Lena sure hoped so; otherwise she didn’t know _what_ Winston would decide was the next best option.

With that thought in her mind, she turned and made her way to the door to call the cowboy and the spider back into the room.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch ya next time, folks! Hope ya enjoyed it so far! :D


	3. Cowboys and Spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Lena tries to convince Winston and Angela that Widowmaker is not there to kill everyone, Amelie and McCree wait outside in the hallway. Amelie makes a new ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I first and foremost want to apologize for the ridiculous amount of time between my updates. I want to assure you all that I still have a burning passion to write this story (I'm constantly imagining where I want to take this story and I have a lot of ridiculously long notes on my phone outlining future parts of the story), it's just that I contantly feel so drained from my workload from college. I'm double-majoring in secondary education and history, so long story short, it is a HELL of a lot of reading and studying. But I promise that I will update as often as I can.
> 
> Now, as for this chapter, I apologize again but everyone is going to have to wait just a little bit longer for what Angela's solution is. When I wrote this part, I originally meant for it to only be a small few paragraphs at the beginning of the chapter, but it ended up being long enough for its own shorter chapter. I feel that it's important enough and sets up some stuff to get its own part. I promise that the next chapter WILL reveal what Angela came up with.
> 
> Lastly, I want to thank everyone who has kept up with the story, as well as new readers, who have left such kind and positive feeback; I appreciate it greatly and I love you guys. I also appreciate any constructive criticism, so don't be afraid to point out anything from grammar mistakes to stuff that just flat out doesn't make sense.
> 
> I'll try to update as soon as possible, and again I apologize for the time between updates. Now, go on and read this chapter! Enjoy! :D

_Corridor outside of Casa de Overwatch communications room, a few minutes ago_

The last thing Amélie saw as she was shepherded out of the comms room was Lena as the Brit mouthed the words _‘Trust me_ , _’_ while the gorilla watching them from the screen behind her, Winston, pinned Amélie with a wary gaze.  Then she and the cowboy, Jesse McCree, were outside of the room. 

She walked forward a few feet into the corridor, then turned to watch as McCree pulled the door to the room the rest of the way shut and locked it with a few taps on the door’s electronic interface.  She watched as he settled himself against the wall near the door, leaning on it in a façade of calm relaxedness.  Up until now, he had tried to act as if he was not afraid; probably for Lena’s sake, but now that it was just the two of them here in this corridor, he lost some of his composure.  Even as he pulled out one of his trademark cigars, lit it, and took a long drag, Amélie could see how tense he was, uncomfortable and watchful now that he was alone with her – with who he probably saw only as _Widowmaker_ , murderer of the innocent and huntress of Talon’s enemies.

Even though Lena had tried to explain to McCree that Amélie had managed to tear through the programming and whatever conditioning Talon had performed on her, he – and most likely Winston and any other agents familiar with Amélie – still saw her as a threat; a ticking time-bomb just waiting to kill anyone and everyone associated with Overwatch, ready to do to them what she had done to…to….

_She looked into Gérard’s eyes, the confusion in them so very evident.  She lifted the pistol in her hand so that it was level with his head, and fired.  His body went limp almost immediately, the light leaving him forever.  She watched as blood trickled from the hole centered between her husband’s eyes, and reveled in the luxurious reward of the kill, as the programming in her mind stimulated her pleasure centers with a dose of dopamine.  She –_

“Hey, you all right?!” a panicked McCree asked.

Amélie blinked her golden eyes, her surroundings slowly coming back into focus.  She was sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the wall and she hugged her long legs closely to her chest.  Her breathing came in rapid gasps and, reaching up to her face, she found that wetness permeated the parts of her cheeks below her eyes. 

What had just happened?  She had been standing, looking at McCree, when the memory of _that night_ had slammed into her out of nowhere, stabbing at a hollow part of her soul that she had buried in her heart’s deepest recesses.  It was as if she had been thrown back into her past, experiencing the horrific sensations of her first kill as Widowmaker all over again.

After a few moments, she got her breathing under control and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, then looked to the cowboy.  He was crouched down in front of her, leaning his arms on the tops of his thighs for balance.  His eyes were searching, brimming with caution yet tinged with worry.  She saw his right hand twitch ever so slightly, most likely ready to whip out his Peacekeeper in case it became apparent that Amélie was attempting something sinister. 

She figured she should say something to defuse the situation.  “I…” she started, hesitating as she tried to formulate the best way to explain what had just happened.  She herself was not even completely sure.  With a deep breath to steady herself, she began again, “Lena told me about…me.  From before Talon took me and turned me into their slave.  She helped me remember who I was – who I _am_ , even though I still have many empty spots in my memory.  Sometimes, if I focus extremely hard, I can push through the haze and remember more of what was stolen from me.”  _My parents, Annecy, Gérard, Lena…all from the time before Talon._

“What just happened…” she shuddered as she thought about what she had seen.  “What just happened…it was not the same.  One moment I was here in this hallway, then the next…I was with…with Gérard.  It was the night he…the night I…” she sucked in a shuddering breath, tightly closing her eyes in an attempt to ward off the fresh tears trying to break free and pour down her cheeks. 

Seeing this, McCree supplied the end of her sentence and quietly said, “The night he died.”  Amélie just gave a few short, pained nods.  He could have said ‘ _The night you betrayed and murdered him_ ,’ but somehow he knew that the woman who had killed more than one of his friends was not the same woman sitting before him now.

Jesse McCree was a smart man.  He may have played the part of the bumbling cowboy fool, but behind that façade was an intelligent, observant mind.  He could see that everything she had just done and said was genuine, and from everything he had heard about Widowmaker, one of the certainties was that she in no way could show emotion or remorse, especially not on the scale that the person in front of him was.  McCree would have bet his hat – and he _loved_ his hat – that what Amélie and Lena had said about Amélie’s breaking free from the Talon conditioning was genuine and true.  He could feel it in his bones.

He nodded to himself, certain now that the woman sitting on the ground across from him was not a danger.  He leaned back on the balls of his feet and slid down against the opposite wall to mirror Amélie’s position, though he did allow his legs to extend out in front of him rather than hold them close like Amélie was.  McCree took a drag from his cigar as he contemplated what she had explained, then said, “I believe you.  For what it’s worth, I’m, uh, sorry about what happened to you.”  He flashed her a sad grin and said, “I promise ya though, we’re gonna bring Talon down for good one of these days.”

Amélie gave a soft laugh in response.  _If only it were that easy._

 McCree cleared his throat and continued, “As for the memory thing, I may be no expert, but I’m sure that Angie or Zenny’ll be willin’ and able to help ya.  Angie’s helped all of us at some point or another with therapy, and Zenny can help ya with his…well whatever it is he did for Genji.”

She was fairly sure that Angie referred to Angela Ziegler, Overwatch’s medic, but she did not recall who ‘Zenny’ or ‘Genji’ were.  Upon hearing the name Genji however, she had briefly seen in her mind’s eye glinting metal and a green-tinged glow.  _Strange_ , she thought to herself.  Even so, Amélie still looked to the cowboy and nodded in thanks.

McCree stayed silent for a couple of seconds and then, nodding to himself as if he had made a decision, he said, “Hey, when they call us back in there, I promise I’ll give ya a vote of confidence, if it helps any.”  He smiled at her, a genuine smile of reassurance.

A warm feeling blossomed in Amélie’s chest.  It was different from how Lena made her feel; it was much less intense and all-consuming, but it was still warm and comforting.  The term ‘friend’ floated through her mind.  She smiled back and said, “Thank you, _Monsieur_ McCree.  I very much appreciate that.”

He acknowledged her thanks with a nod and said, “No problemo, ma’am.  But please, call me Jesse.  My dad was mister McCree.” 

Amélie nodded, and smiled as she repeated his name, “Jesse.”

He nodded, pleased.

For the next few minutes, the two of them sat quietly; Jesse smoked his cigar and thought on recent developments while Amélie anxiously waited for Lena to poke her pretty head out and call them into the room to deliver the verdict on what was to be done with her.

She was indeed nervous, but her conversation with Jesse had made her feel much better than before.  It also appeared that she had recovered from whatever had happened with the traumatic flash of her memory of that terrible night from all those years ago, which allowed her to fall into a much calmer state.  She enjoyed the quiet until suddenly, Jesse gave an awkward cough and gave her a wry smile.

She raised an eyebrow and asked, “What?”

“So, uh,” Jesse started, scratching the back of his neck with his metal hand, “I take it you and Lena are involved?”  There had been more than enough signs in the car, from the hand-holding to the joke about Amélie being Lena’s ‘Missus,’ but McCree didn’t want just assume they were together if they in fact weren’t.  One could call him _nosy_ , without any stretch of the imagination.

Amélie could feel the blush growing on her cheeks and ears as she said, “ _Oui_.  As I said, she is my tether to who I once was – to who I am.  She fought for me when everyone assumed I was a lost cause.  She is mine and I am hers.”

He gave her a pleased smile.  “I’m glad for the both of you then; she needs someone to take care of her.  She has a penchant for jumping into a fire-fight first and makin’ a plan second.”

Amélie chuckled at that.  But before she could respond, the door to the comms room pushed partway open from the inside, and the face of the girl in question – the girl who made Amélie’s insides feel oh so warm and fuzzy – popped out through the opening at an amusing horizontal angle.  The first thing she noticed was that Lena was absolutely _beaming_ , which had to be good.  Eyes sparkling and lips grinning, the short Brit waved them into the room as she said, “Oi, get your butts up; Ange’s got a brilliant idea!”

Jesse chuckled at Lena’s enthusiasm as he pushed himself up and off of the floor.  He offered his flesh-and-blood hand to Amélie, who clasped his forearm and allowed herself to be pulled up into a standing position.  She nodded her head in thanks, to which Jesse tipped his hat in acknowledgement.  Then they both followed Lena back into the comms room.

Once they were inside, Amélie moved so that she stood next to Lena, and Jesse moved to stand on Amélie’s other side: a sandwich of sympathy and friends.  Still, Amélie felt…nervous, even though Lena’s demeanor assured her that the decision they had come to could in no way be too terribly bad. 

She brushed her knuckles against Lena’s in askance.  Her lover obliged, intertwining her fingers with Amélie’s; the Brit’s smaller hand still radiated much more warmth than that of the Frenchwoman, and the sensation comforted her.  Their physical proximity and contact grounded Amélie; she was ready to hear what the three Overwatch agents had determined to be her fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope ya liked it! See ya next time :D


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